Bad Boys Who Run

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Hazel

The shrill screech of an alarm sent me jolting awake at six-o'clock in the morning the next day. I turn towards Lyndon's bed to find him stretching languidly and stepping easily down, not even bothering with his phone's alarm clock as he strolls nonchalantly towards his bathroom.

              I roll over with a huff and slam the screen harshly until it shuts off suddenly. Lyndon peers around the bathroom door with wide blue eyes before closing the door softly. I sigh and turn back towards the comfort of my cooling spot in bed, crawling up into it quickly and snuggling into the sheets.

              About ten minutes later, Lyndon comes slinking out of the bathroom with a towel hanging loosely around his trim middle. Drops of water hit the ground like rain, but they pound against my ears in the dark silence like landmines going off.

              "I'm sorry about my alarm," Lyndon breathes softly across the quiet of the still-dark room, "I have to go run."

              I grunt out an incoherent reply and try without luck to drift back into sleep.

              "Unless you've got willpower like mine, you're probably not getting back to sleep anytime soon," Lyndon ventures again. "Want to give it up and go for a run with me?"

              I move around just enough to shoot him a sour glare before muttering, "I don't run" and shutting my eyes again with an irritated huff.

              "Ya sure? There's nothing better to do at six in the morning."

              "Go away," I grumble, rolling over again, "I'm asleep."

              "Whatever you prefer," he mumbles before grabbing the silver, metal water bottle he keeps on top of his desk and shoving his phone into his fanny pack before zipping it shut. A pair of headphones run up to his ears and his bare chest, visible and stark against the dark fabric of his running shorts, still glistens a bit from his shower as he shuts the door behind him to leave for his run.

              I grab my phone after realizing he was right about not getting back to sleep. My screen glares 6:10 AM, and the light is near blinding. I can feel the blacks of my eyes squint to accompany it as I hurriedly turn down the brightness and tap my Twitter icon. I hit the notifications tab to find it void as usual. I scroll a bit, the 1,000 randoms I follow at complete opposition to the four thousand that follow me. I type Ashton's name into the search bar and wait as her profile picture swims into view under the user: @ssshhh. Her account name, 'ShutUpAsh,' pops up quickly and I click it without hesitation.

I smile as I scroll and take in her and his brother's seemingly daily banter about who ate the last bun or something squeamish their dad's tried cooking. I scroll some more before going back to my timeline and losing myself in other people's problems for a while. The next moment I look up, the sun is streaming through the window's thin curtains and my screen reads 7:30 am.

              I shrug my way out from under the covers and into the bite of the cold room, all but running for the shower. I twist the nob in distress until I feel the rush of water grow warm. I twist until it's nearly scorching—I like to be pink when I get out—and duck under the spray of water as soon as my clothes are gone.

              I turn around and let the water run down my back before grabbing at my body gel and rubbing a drizzle into my hands. I've just got to the bit between my shoulders when I feel a rush of cold air.

              "Ah!" I scream, turning quickly and bringing my hands down to cover my boy bits.

              Lyndon stares down at me in awe before squeezing his way—butt naked as usual—into the spray with me, arms and other things swinging freely.